Not Your Existence
by firewings86
Summary: Some things are more important than the greater good, and it's Gabrielle's turn to say so. One-shot.


It was oddly numbing, being dead. Xena watched Gabrielle with what she was certain should've been an ever-increasing sickness in the pit of her stomach, yet she felt nothing. Her heart had stilled when she could have sworn that only moments ago, it hammered in her chest like a frantic bird throwing itself against her rib cage.

This body could not be her own, this light, unfeeling body, placid in the face of Gabrielle's anguish. Tears welled in her eyes and grounded her. At least they were something of her own, something from before. From her life.

"But Xena," Gabrielle said, her voice quivering, "that is not _right_."

It had to be right. Xena wished to all the gods of all religions that she could will her guilt away, but her responsibility to the souls she'd condemned held her like a chain around her neck.

Xena faltered when Gabrielle cried. Could the weight of those souls eclipse the grief of her beloved? Surely a hundred thousand souls spiraled wailing into Tartarus with each tear that slid down her perfect cheeks. _You know better than that,_ she chided herself. _You know what you have to do_.

"I don't care," Gabrielle said, quiet, broken. "You're all that matters to me." Something twisted in Xena's chest. _So I can feel after all_. Interesting. And maddening.

She tried to keep her voice steady and soft. "Don't you know how much I want to let you do this?" Gabrielle's sobs weakened her resolve, but she steeled herself. She had to say what was right—what _needed_ to be said. "But if there is a reason for our travels together, it's because I had to learn from you, enough to know the final, the good, the right thing to do." Her own tears flowed freely now, and she knew at last what it truly meant to die. "I can't come back," she said with a conviction she only half-felt. She wanted it to be real, so she said again, more to herself than to Gabrielle, "I can't."

Gabrielle sat on the edge of the fountain, the urn holding Xena's ashes clutched tight against her stomach. A shallow relief eased through the tension in Xena's chest, but then Gabrielle turned, slowly, and said, "But I'm not as wise as you think I am. I was naïve when we met, Xena, don't you see? I've been learning, too, all these years with you."

"Gabrielle—" Xena tried to interject, but Gabrielle cut her off.

"'There are things in life worth dying for,'" she quoted, a strange hardness creeping into her voice as she trailed her fingers over the lid of the urn, "'things that hold a higher meaning than our own existence.'"

Xena's stomach dropped, or maybe the memory of it created a phantom nausea that mirrored her emotions; either way, she knew what Gabrielle was about to do. Her arm shot out toward the bard, but it was too late.

"Gabrielle, _no_!"

"_Not your existence._"

Gabrielle dumped the ashes into the water.

The world exploded.

Life slammed back into her and seized her lungs. Air rushed into them by force, too quickly, too hard. She couldn't breathe, but she _had_ to breathe. She had no choice. A terrible, shuddering cough wracked her, and she choked out a strangled cry. In an instant, Gabrielle's arms were around her neck. She cradled Xena against her chest and clutched at her hair and the back of her head, hugging her and stroking her and holding her down.

Xena tried to pull away, but Gabrielle held tight. "How could you do this?" Her breaths rasped and hitched, still new to her reborn body. "What have you done?"

"Not you," Gabrielle said, her voice high and desperate. "Not you. It's not worth losing you. It's _not worth it, _Xena."

"Gabrielle, those souls—"

"Will be free when you die! It wasn't even your fault." Gabrielle made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a gasp. "They can wait." Another wave of tears shook her, and Xena's heart broke anew.

"This is selfish," Xena whispered, her confidence wavering.

"You're being selfish!" Gabrielle finally dropped her arms and crossed them across her stomach. She turned away and buried her face in her hands. "Think about all of the people you can still help in your lifetime. Think of your daughter, Xena, imagine her cries when she hears about the death of her mother. Do you want her to have to lose you again? She's already been an orphan once."

Xena fell silent, cowed. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to do. What had seemed right only moments before now fogged and greyed in her conscience.

"Please," Gabrielle whispered, her head bowed, "think of me. It may be selfish, but I love you, Xena. I _love_ you. I can't go on without you. I can't."

Slowly, gingerly, Xena worked Gabrielle's arms loose and pulled her into a long, tight hug. She rested her chin on that familiar nest of blonde hair, breathed Gabrielle in, and gazed into the distance as the sun slipped under the horizon. Her heart still beat. Her chest still rose and fell.

"I love you, too," she said softly as Gabrielle trembled and clung to her and buried her face in her chest. "So much."

"Forgive me," Gabrielle whispered. "I didn't have a choice. The only choice for me is you. It'll always be you. There is nothing else."

Xena understood. Had the roles been reversed, she would have done the same. Guilt warred with a selfish relief—she told herself that this had been Gabrielle's choice and not her own, but some dark part of her knew that she wanted this as much as her partner did. What redemption could she have if she followed only her own desires, her own whims, her own flesh?

But then, looking into those watery green eyes, she couldn't help but let a quiet acceptance wash over her. Gabrielle was right (as usual, loath as she was to admit it). She couldn't do this to her. It was wrong.

Gabrielle sat up on her knees, the sun's dying light on her face, and pressed her lips against Xena's, gently, tenderly, only for a few seconds. Her breathing slowed, her tears still fresh and damp on Xena's cheeks.

"Of course I forgive you," Xena said, running her thumbs under Gabrielle's eyes. "I'll always forgive you. Always." Warmth overwhelmed her as Gabrielle collapsed into her arms. She held her, rocked her, and kissed her forehead again and again as she whispered, "Always, always."

"Let's go home," Gabrielle said, trailing kisses across the crook of Xena's neck. They healed her—broke her and melted her and put her back together again.

"All right." Xena sighed, feeling the air give way in her lungs, as the stars peeked out over the horizon. Gabrielle's small, hesitant smile calmed her and smoothed her guilt away. It would return in time, of course. It always did, but in this moment, she knew some small measure of peace. "All right," she said again and stood.

They made their way down the mountain, hesitant but steady in each other's arms, their fingers intertwined. Darkness swallowed the day, and snow covered the footprints left long behind them. Even the cold could not touch them, for they were together.

In the end, they fought, they made love, and they traveled and fought again. They broke some promises and kept the ones they could. They sailed and they rode, both cautiously and with reckless abandon. They drowned their bad memories and drank to their happy ones. They saw the world through unfettered eyes.

They loved. And they lived.


End file.
